


Kotov Syndrome

by Draycevixen



Series: POI fic by Draycevixen [12]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Competency, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Slash, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Msmoat, who asked for “a bit of Finch hurt/John angry and competent” and my brain sort of wandered off from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kotov Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msmoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/gifts).



.

“You’re sure he’ll be alright, Dr. Tillman?”

His voice was dry and raspy. A glance at the clock showed he hadn’t moved from the bedside chair in over three hours. No wonder his shoulders felt so stiff. 

“His ribs will be sore for a while but luckily none of them are broken. He’ll probably have a really bad headache when he wakes up and his wrist will have to be splinted for at least ten days, but yes, I’m sure now, he’ll be alright.”

Reese rose to his feet, stretching, working his muscles loose. 

Dr. Tillman had come straight from a shift at the hospital and been taking care of Finch ever since, monitoring him for concussion and tending to his injuries. She looked exhausted and he hated to ask but he had to leave. 

“Can you stay with him for a while?”

She frowned up at him. “I’m happy to stay but don’t you think he’d want you to be here when he wakes up?”

No, he didn’t think that. “You’ll find a man stationed out in the living room. He’s not much to look at but he’ll protect you.”

“Another friend?”

“Fusco?” He’d only had one friend but he’d fucked that up. “More of an acquaintance.” One who knew what would happen to him if he failed. 

He slipped a burner phone out of his pocket and handed it to Dr. Tillman. “Just hit 1 on the speed dial if anything…” 

“He’s fine.” She surprised Reese by hugging him briefly before stepping back toward her patient. “Really, he’s going to be fine.”

“If anything changes, if you need me, hit 1 on the speed dial.”

“I’ve got it, you can count on me.”

“Thank you.” He closed the bedroom door behind him as quietly as he could.

 

Fusco was sitting in an armchair watching a basketball game with the sound turned off. He rose to his feet as Reese approached him. 

“Nice hotel suite you got here.”

Reese shrugged. It had been the nearest hotel to Dr. Tillman’s hospital and the costly suite guaranteed privacy and discretion on the hotel’s part.

“I was thinking of ordering dinner from room service. You want something?”

“No, I have to go out.” He picked up his overcoat from the back of the couch and pulled it on. “Check if the doctor would like anything.”

“Course.” Fusco shifted his weight slightly, shoving his hands in to his pockets. “Shouldn’t you wait until he wakes up?”

He glowered at Fusco. “If anything happens—”

“Yeah, yeah, strung up by my balls, painful death, heard it all before. Consider me pre-threatened.” Fusco followed him over to the door. “I’ve got this one. If you’ve gotta go, go.”

 

He called her as he walked to his car. “Ms. Gutierrez? You might not remember— yes, it’s John. I need to ask a favor.”

 

Reese could tell from the way Andrea’s shoulders were hunched up around her ears that she was cold and miserable but she was a trooper, strolling apparently aimlessly even though this was her second time around this particular block. 

They’d covered three short blocks and should have flushed him out by now; predators defend their territories but a low level one like this mugger would be lucky to hold even a couple of streets in New York. 

Without being told to, Andrea had dressed in light colored clothing like a tourist with an oversized shoulder bag slung carelessly over one arm and a half-folded map in her hand. Her whole demeanor screamed “mark” in a way Reese wouldn’t have been able to sell on his best day. 

There, finally, at the edge of an alley half a block away from where he’d found Finch, he could see movement. As the mugger stepped out in front of Andrea, tire iron clutched tightly in one fist, Reese ran to catch up. 

“Hand over your bag, bitch.”

“I don’t think so.” Andrea stepped backwards, smiling at the mugger. “My friend would like a word with you.”

“You ain’t got no friends down here—”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Reese stepped in close, grabbing the mugger’s wrist, twisting it and forcing him to drop the tire iron, before gut punching him, dropping him to his knees. He pulled the mugger’s arm up and backwards, one hand braced against his shoulder to prevent movement of the joint, the other hand twisting the arm hard, the sickening sound of bone breaking not quite drowned out by the mugger’s scream. As Reese let go, the mugger dropped to the sidewalk, gasping and grabbing at his arm. Reese stamped down hard on the mugger’s ankle guaranteeing he wasn’t going anywhere without help. 

He breathed deeply, resisting the urge to finish taking the mugger to pieces. 

Andrea used the side of her foot to shove the tire iron far away from the mugger’s reach. “What did you do to him?”

“Spiral fracture. He’ll never play the violin again but he’ll live.”

Andrea looked… relieved, no other word for it. “I thought you might kill him.”

For a moment he thought about lying to her but only for a moment. “I considered it.” If Finch had died he would have.

He called Carter’s number. “Where are you?”

“Out looking for you. Fusco called, told me where you were headed and why. I’m sorry about your friend but if you’ve—”

“I think you remember Andrea Gutierrez, Detective Carter, I’m putting her on the phone.”

Andrea grinned at Reese while taking the phone before making her voice go high pitched and panicky sounding. 

“Oh thank god, Detective. I’ve been mugged. If it wasn’t for the fast thinking actions of a passing Good Samaritan who knows what might have happened… Unfortunately he didn’t want to get involved so he left once he knew I was safe… A Name? Just John…Yes, I’m very sorry about that too... No, it’s very dark on this street. He was tall, well dressed, but I didn’t really notice anything else probably due to the shock of it all… No, I’m fine thank you, Detective, and the mugger isn’t in a condition to harm anyone right now. You might want to call an ambulance for him, eventually… Of course I’ll be happy to press charges. I’m an attorney; it’s the right thing to do. Pass you back?” Andrea’s voice reverted to normal. “Sure, I’ll see you in a few minutes, Detective.”

Reese took the phone, pressing it to his chest. “I have to leave now. Will you be alright alone with him?”

“I’ll be fine. I almost hope he is stupid enough to try to get up.” 

He believed her. “Thanks.” 

He walked away, lifting the phone to his ear. “Carter?”

“Just wanted to thank you, John, for not making me have to hunt you down.”

“Don’t thank me, Detective.” He merged in to the shadow of an alley further down the street determined to keep an eye on Andrea until Carter arrived. “My partner wouldn’t have liked it.”

“What do you know, you’ve got your very own Jiminy Cricket.”

His hand tightened on the cell phone. “One day I might even be a real live boy again.” He could hear her car’s siren approaching. “Goodnight, Detective.”

 

Back in the car he’d parked three blocks away, Reese slumped in the seat, fingers drumming restlessly on the steering wheel. He’d hoped getting Finch’s mugger off the streets would calm him down; killing him might have taken care of the itch… No, a good agent lies to everyone but himself, the moment he starts doing that he’s lost. Finch was the itch under his skin he couldn’t scratch. 

His emotions had been in the deep freeze for so long he hadn’t even realized the attraction was there until the first wet dream, starring the pair of them in the backseat of Finch’s limo. He’d worked out early on in life as a horny teenager eager to explore his options, that he was Bi – thank you, Bobby Rollins, he smirked at that particular memory – so Finch riding his cock in his dream hadn’t worried him.

Other dreams had followed and even a few idle fantasies while hanging around the library waiting for Finch to research a number; his favorite fantasies centered on keyboards crashing to the floor as Finch bent him over his desk and fucked him until he couldn’t stand up, bonus points for the one that involved handcuffs.

He'd grown used to the advantages of fuck buddies in Special Forces when they’d been isolated miles from anywhere and had needed a way to blow off steam. Despite being based in New York he and Finch couldn’t have been more isolated if they’d tried and Reese had considered propositioning him. Finch could probably use some stress relief too.

If he’d just acted without thinking about it… but he’d thought about it too long and had come to the conclusion that nothing of the very little he did know about Finch suggested he’d be up for it; sex with a man possibly, a casual liaison probably not. It just wasn’t worth the risk to the tenuous relationship they’d formed. Decision made, he’d looked for company elsewhere, numbers permitting, casual hook-ups where the last thing his bedmates would have expected or even wanted was the truth about his life. 

He hadn’t even known what a house of cards he was living in until an innocent remark from Finch had brought it all crashing down around him. 

“We haven’t had a new number in almost a week, Mr. Reese, and yet you’ve spent most of the last five days with me.” Finch was using chopsticks to dig in to a box of the Chinese takeout Reese had picked up and brought to the library for dinner, even though they’d already spent the afternoon together at the MoMA and had said their goodbyes there. “I would have thought you’d have taken the opportunity to find more… agreeable company.” 

He’d been shaken to realize that he hadn’t sought out any company except Finch’s in almost two months. Being forced to acknowledge that his feelings for Finch had deepened way past simple attraction amounted to being well and truly screwed. There was an outside chance that he could have seduced Finch in to being fuck buddies but he wanted more than that now and Finch knew far too much about him to ever want more than that from him. 

Still, even knowing it could never happen couldn’t stop him from wanting it. The dreams and fantasies had returned full force, every bit as sexually explicit as ever but softened by emotions he had trouble processing and that left him craving more.

He knew it was hopeless but as an agent he’d been trained to do the impossible, twice on Sundays, so his mind kept grinding away at the problem, coming up with multiple scenarios and solutions and rejecting every one in turn as doomed to fail. 

And then in a moment of weakness he’d almost got Finch killed. Part of him wanted to start the car, drive out of the city and just keep going but then he thought about what had happened the last time he’d put his own needs first. The steering wheel creaked under the pressure of his hands. He wouldn’t leave Finch unless Finch told him to go. Reese started the car and drove back to the hotel. 

 

Fusco was on his feet, hands out in front of him, before Reese had even finished closing the door. “He made me call Carter, wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Reese stopped dead in his tracks. “He’s awake?”

He didn’t feel like Fusco’s _well, duh_ look really required a response. “Go home, Fusco.” 

Fusco shrugged his jacket back on, hesitating only a moment at Reese’s softly worded “and thanks” before he left.

Reese stripped off his overcoat and jacket and crossed to the door of the bedroom Finch was using, getting as far as closing his hand around the doorknob before stopping. Finch had probably fallen asleep again and he shouldn’t disturb him. Better to just leave it until morning. 

“I can hear you thinking from here, Mr. Reese.” Finch’s voice was muffled by the door but still clearly audible. 

He briefly considered retreating to the suite’s other bedroom before acknowledging the all too real possibility that Finch would get out of his bed to confront him. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Finch was sat up in bed nestled in to a mound of pillows a couple of which supported his splinted wrist, the bedcovers drawn up around his chest. Without his glasses on his eyes looked huge in his drawn face, his skin almost as pale as the bandage under his right ear. But it was Finch’s hair that really drew Reese's eye, looking exactly like Finch had just stuck his finger in a light socket. He tried not to smirk and failed. A mere twist of Finch’s lips in response suggested that he knew exactly how he currently looked. 

He hovered in the open doorway not sure if he should just say goodnight or—

“Please sit down. It’s uncomfortable looking up at you from this angle.” 

Reese sat down in the bedside chair, not sure what to say first. “Where’s Dr. Tillman?” If Fusco had let her leave without making sure she got home safely—

“Dr. Tillman wouldn’t leave me unattended so I suggested she make use of the other bedroom.” Finch gestured at his phone sitting on the bedside table. “She told me she’d keep her phone by the bed and to hit the speed dial if I needed her. She’s a very nice woman.” Finch wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “You’ve obviously made quite an impression there, Mr. Reese.” 

“She’s a doctor who didn’t really want to be a murderer” _like me._ He stopped himself from actually saying it but from the frown on Finch’s face he’d still heard it loud and clear. 

He studied his boots, trying to think where to start. He wanted to say he was sorry, it should be simple enough to do. Finch would never have been in that alley in the first place if he hadn’t dragged him out without really having a plan. Barbara, their current number, had been draped all over Finch throatily murmuring “I’ve always loved men with big… brains.” Well, who didn’t? He should have just left them alone together, but he couldn’t.

He hadn’t even really needed Finch’s help to monitor the Ryan brothers; he’d just been blinded by jealousy and used the Ryans as an excuse to keep Finch with him and away from Barbara. If he’d had his head in the game instead of just thinking with his dick, he would have realized something was wrong long before he’d found Finch propped up against an alley wall barely conscious after being mugged. He wanted to apologize but what if Finch wouldn’t accept his apology?

“I’m sorry, John.” 

Reese's head jerked up so he could stare at Finch. 

“If I’d been able to defend myself the Ryan brothers would be in custody by now.” Finch stared down at the sheets. 

“Don’t say that.” Without conscious thought his hand moved to rest on Finch’s thigh. He forced himself to keep his hand relaxed, feeling Finch shift slightly beneath the blanket. He’d wait a minute and then take it back, slow and steady nothing too obvious. The last thing he needed now was to really scare Finch off. 

Finch’s uninjured hand moved to cover Reese’s. “Why not? If you’re going to allocate blame there’s enough to go around.”

It should have alarmed him just how easily Finch could read him but their connection was his last anchor to the world and he welcomed it, his fingers tightening slightly. 

“I’m all right, John, and not even you could have predicted a common mugger.”

Carter was right, Jiminy Cricket and much kinder than he deserved. He slowly withdrew his hand, Finch shifting his hand away at his first tentative movement. 

“You should get some sleep, Finch.” He rose to his feet, choking down something big that was trying to unfold in his chest, determined to get out of the room before he said something stupid he couldn’t take back. 

“You should sleep here.” Apparently Finch was prepared to beat him to that too. 

“Why?” Reese almost regretted the question as he saw a little color climb back in to Finch’s cheeks. _Almost._

“The good doctor is using the other bedroom, hotel suites always have notoriously uncomfortable couches and this bed is certainly big enough for both of us.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea” _for you to encourage me to want things I don’t deserve and can’t have_.

“I do...” Reese was seriously beginning to wonder if Finch really was a mind reader as a slow smirk spread across Finch’s face, the sort that usually meant he’d solved a puzzle. "...I’ll sleep better for having you near.”

In the end, perhaps it was just this simple. Months of thinking and planning had done nothing except frustrate him and put Finch in danger. 

Reese nodded and then sat back down in the chair to unzip and remove his boots before pulling off his socks, wiggling his toes. 

Finch studied his wrist splint.

He stood up and removed his handgun from the back of his belt placing it on the bedside table. He pulled his shirt-tails out of his pants before unbuttoning and removing his shirt, watching Finch out of the corner of his eye, looking for any signs of interest but not seeing any. 

Perhaps in Finch’s current condition he didn’t even realize the connotations behind what he’d said. Reese scratched lightly at his stomach through his undershirt. He hated wearing one, generally didn’t, but there’d been a cold snap in New York and— 

There, a flicker of interest on Finch’s face, his eyes drawn by the movement of Reese’s hand, before Finch quickly went back to staring at his wrist splint like it held the secrets of the universe. 

The hypothesis had to be tested. He pulled his undershirt off threw it in to the chair and then stretched his arms up over his head looking up at the ceiling, working the last of the kinks out of his shoulders before dropping his head back down quickly. And there, there were the signs he’d been looking for, Finch’s pupils dilated, his chest lightly flushed.

Reese picked up his gun and walked around to the other side of the bed, dropping it on to the bedside table. Then he stretched out on the bed, close to Finch but not touching. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable, more likely to sleep, if you took your pants off and got under the covers?”

He rolled over on his side to look up at Finch who was still enthroned in the pillows. 

“Dr. Tillman’s still here and she might need something.” 

“Oh yes, Dr. Tillman.” Finch looked crushingly disappointed. 

He resisted the urge to cheer. “I’ll get the light.” He rolled over further, pausing with his weight braced carefully above Finch to avoid his sore ribs. “This is the only place I would be able to sleep tonight.”

Finch grinned up at him and Reese kissed him quickly, a mere press of lips before he could lose his nerve, and then he reached across Finch to turn off the lamp. 

“Goodnight, Harold.” 

“Goodnight, Mr. Reese.”

Reese rolled back down on to his back, turning his head so he could look at Finch’s profile, no room in New York ever truly dark. 

What if he did strip down and get under the covers? Would Finch let him hold him? Would he let him wrap himself around Finch like a blanket, like he wanted to? Finch was injured but he honestly didn’t have sex on his mind anyway, well, not right now at least. He just wanted to hold Finch, to be certain he was still here with him. Of course he might be reading too much in to it. Finch had been assaulted and he might just be feeling vulnerable. He’d need a plan, a good one, for when Finch had recovered, something to test the waters and—

“Go to sleep, John.” Finch moved his uninjured hand in a slow caress down across Reese’s shoulder, Finch’s hand coming to rest in the middle of Reese's chest. “You won’t need a strategy.”

.


End file.
